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The woman passed and the cycle broke. Cassandra forced herself not to turn and look further. If she did, the patterns would keep building with the next detail and the next. Her brain would remain hyperfixated on the details and connections until it couldn’t think about anything else.

Cue migraine.

But the woman was now out of sight, and no one else was around but Fallon. Her brain had known Fallon long enough, even through screens, that Fallon’s patterns didn’t overwhelm her like strangers did. The read was quiet, automatic, low-cost. Old baseline with minor updates. Nothing that demanded effort.

“You okay?” Fallon asked.

Cass picked up her pace, hoping her friend wouldn’t notice the slightest bit of sweat beading her brow. “Yeah. But how about you? How’s your body doing?” She bumped her shoulder into Fallon’s. “The real version, not the tough-girl version.”

Fallon spread her fingers wide and curled them back, watching her own hand like it was a piece of equipment she was testing. “So much better, actually. I’m not using it the same way. No climbing, no crawling through air ducts, no dangling off the sides of buildings. So my joints are happier than they’ve been in years.”

“Look at you. Retired from the fire escape lifestyle.”

“Hardly retired. Just relocated.” The smile that crossed Fallon’s face carried a warmth that Cassandra hadn’t seen in three years of working together.

Something had settled in Fallon. The grinding, relentless vigilance Cassandra had always read off her had loosened into something more durable. This place agreed with her.

Isaac agreed with her.

Comfortable silence settled between them as they walked. Fallon moved with a steadiness her body hadn’t possessed three months ago—hips steadier, stride more open, the careful negotiations with her joints replaced by something that looked almost effortless.

If Cassandra had to lose every-day contact with her friend, it was at least sacrificed to a situation in which Fallon wasn’t hurting so much.

“I know you’re ready to get started, but let me take you by to meet the rest of the team first.” Fallon tipped her chin toward the main building ahead of them. “I want to show you off a little.”

The bottom dropped out of Cassandra’s stomach. “I don’t need to meet the team. You know me. Just point me at the data and give me a desk.”

“Cass, I promise these are good people. You’ll like them. And, like you, they’ve dropped everything to help with this case.”

“Yeah, but I’m not a superhero like them.” Cassandra forced a smile on her face. “No need to make them suffer the mere mortals.”

“Only a few people here are bona fide superheroes, I promise. And mostly we send them for off-planet missions.” Fallon chuckled. “Nobody is going to make you feel uncomfortable or even—gasp—make you engage in small talk. You don’t have to say a word. It’ll be fine.”

She could refuse. She could tell Fallon that a room full of strangers would extract a price Fallon didn’t understand.

But that conversation would require telling Fallon everything. She didn’t want to burden her friend. She would handle it. She’d keep her glasses on and use them to dim the details as much as possible. It was a short meet-and-greet. She’d stay five minutes, tops, then tell Fallon she was itching to get to work.

After all the years they’d worked together, Fallon would understand.

“Fine. But if anyone starts talking about radioactive spiders or gamma rays, I’m out of there.”

Fallon bumped her with her shoulder. “Deal.”

They rounded the corner of the main building and pushed through a set of double doors into a hallway lined with glass-walled offices. A few people moved between rooms. Cassandra felt her brain reaching for each of them and fixed her gaze on the floor before it could latch on any details.

Fallon stopped at a door at the end of the hall and opened it.

In Cassandra’s head, meet the team had meant handshakes. Coffee, maybe. A couple people drifting in and out, brief introductions, done.

This was a conference room full of people, almost every seat taken.

Shit. This was not a meet-and-greet; this was an all-hands briefing.

A long table ran the length of the room, a screen mounted on the far wall, and a dozen faces she had never seen turned toward the door when it opened. Her brain lunged for all of them at once.

Outside, she’d had distance and open air and the mercy of encountering one person at a time. This was a closed room packed tight with strangers, and the data crashed in from every direction, layered and tangled.

One glance at a face and she was already cataloging.